Continuously, reluctantly telling myself
I’m grateful I have a job and
Needing to dress up for the day,
I beget small trinkets of salary.
This accomplishment does not placate my soul,
The soul that seems to be rotting to the death.
American Culture, Day Job, Depression, Failure, Idealism, Poems, Purpose, Resistance
This entry was posted on January 4, 2011, 7:58 pm and is filed under Finding Purpose, Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0.
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#1 by Life: Between the lines on January 4, 2011 - 8:00 pm
The soul only hears what it wishes to hear 🙂
Thanks for the smile 🙂
#2 by Carl on January 4, 2011 - 8:08 pm
LOL. My soul hears all and is the perfect judge of all that is good and bad. 🙂
#3 by Life: Between the lines on January 4, 2011 - 8:14 pm
lol, thanks for the smiles 🙂
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